Hostess end leaves a bitter taste

Saturday

Nov 17, 2012 at 6:00 AMDec 3, 2012 at 9:24 AM

George Barnes Barnestorming

It should not have come as a surprise yesterday morning. All I had to do was look at the extreme visibility of Jupiter last night, followed by the rain of Leonid meteors before dawn, the six spotted lady bugs crawling on my window and the face of some deity in the froth of my coffee to know the end of The Hostess was upon us.

That's right. Hostess Brands, bakers since 1930 of mmmmmm Twinkies and yummmmm CupCakes and rudely named Ho-Hos and Ding Dongs, is going out of business. The reason for the demise of America's legendary baker is simple, if you believe the official line. The company that inspired such phrases as, “Don't eat that. It's bad for you,” and “OMG! How can you eat that!” is officially shutting down because the owners do not believe they can survive a nationwide strike, and owners decided it was better to get out with their Sno Balls still intact.

Hostess Brands, which also makes Wonder bread, the bread that made strong bodies 12 ways, announced Friday it has ceased operations at all plants, will sell all its assets and lay off 18,500 employees.

This may come as a shock to those who are not in the know, but I knew for a long time this would happen. I have been preparing for it, stockpiling Twinkies, CupCakes and Ho-Hos in an underground bunker somewhere in Templeton, safe from feral cats and sugar-addicted teenagers. I will move in there as soon as I can purchase enough legally registered firearms and a wardrobe of hunter orange clothing.

This worldwide crisis was predicted long ago in the Book of Ron Paul, chapter 11, verses 6-9. It read, “And lo, in the east, floods, fires, destroyed roller coasters and interrupted subway service will be followed close behind by the rising of a bright star named Professor Warren. Her rising, to coincide with the gathering darkness settling over Irvine, Texas, home of Hostess Brands, has been foretold since ancient times by Mayan calendar makers. It will be the signal for the chosen to begin ascending to the next healthier level. And as they ascend, so shall diminish the fortunes of the makers of sugary delights that have held us in thrall since the time of Howdy Doody.

It is clear, both in the indecipherable writings of the Mayans and the even denser writings of The Paul, that two things will soon happen: First, all who cling to the cream-filled soft cake wonders will be taken away to California to be thrashed daily with green beans and asparagus. Those who shed their earthly addictions will find themselves freed of health worries and be sent to live in communities called Cambridge, Amherst and Martha's Vineyard, where they will live out their days safe from sugar temptations, enjoying grass-fed beef, organic turnips and folk music by bands performing with fair trade instruments made only of recycled materials.

I could be over-thinking this whole thing, but learning that Hostess is going out of business has left me out of sorts and concerned that this marks the end of joy in the world just as the season of joy is beginning. Have you ever had a Hostess Sno Ball or a Twinkie? When I was a child, Sno Balls were like medical marijuana is today, something I could only dream of getting my hands on. I would stare at them on the shelf of Templeton Farmers Co-Operative (now Country Store) while my mother stocked up on milk, bread and eggs. They were perfectly half-round with coconut covering a skin of pure sugar that was not sticky like frosting, but just as good. Under the skin, the darkest chocolate cake awaited you and inside that, cream — pure creamy stuff.

I don't eat many Sno Balls today. As we age, we need to eat healthier, and I am trying. But still, I can't help feeling a little sad knowing that America's most perfect snack food will no longer be produced.